Prompt Post #2

[fantasticbeasts_kinkmeme]

  ROUND 2

Seeing as we've reached 4,000 comments in Round 1, it's time to make a new one. Same (lack of) rules apply. Gentle reminder to everyone to refrain from posting extremely long prompts, though. While no word limit will be imposed, take note that it is very unlikely for someone to fulfill your prompt if your prompt alone is already several paragraphs long and containing a number of specifications.

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FILL - This is Very Personal - Credence/Graves noncon 1/2?

[(Anonymous)]

This probably goes without saying, but just in case, TW: graphic rape, homophobia, internalized homophobia, misogyny, graphic violence, dead dove do not eat

---

"What about you is so special?"

Credence barely registers the words spoken to him, fear overwhelming his senses, and as much as he just wants to tune this all out, send his mind somewhere far, far away, he is so very present. The wizard's hot breath ghosts over his face, and a sharp stink tinges Credence's nostrils. Tears sting their way down his fair cheeks, and not even the constricting incarcerous ropes binding his legs together and his arms behind his back can stop the violent tremble overtaking his body. His toes hang an inch from the ground, an unseeable force keeping him upright as though suspended from the ceiling.

"What is it about you that the great Percival Graves regards so highly?" The man is closer to his husband's age than his own, with dark gray hair and a thick mustache. Whillum, he's sure he heard one of the other men call him. He looks like he could have been a more refined man, but something about him is unhinged. Grabbing Credence's cheeks in one hand, Whillum applies enough force to make his lips pucker. "I see nothing worthwhile about you. You're a miserable squib."

A pulse of heat branches through Credence's chest, and his eyes narrow, but that anger lasts only a moment. The man is grinning, amused ­­to have elicited such a reaction. It is, after all, the only inconsistency from his persistent crying all night.

"Touched a sore spot, have we?" Whillum chuckles, but then his features smooth to something more calculating, and he presses the pads of his fingers into his skin. "But there is something about you, isn't there? Why else would he keep you so hidden? So protected?"

One of the other men snorts. "Not protected enough." They call him Giles. He's also older, all three of them are. However, Giles' clothing is unkempt, and he's generally more disheveled. The same is true of the third man, who he thinks they called Hugh.

Credence doesn't recognize their surroundings, though were he to guess, he would say it was an abandon No-Maj factory. For all he knows, they could be cities away. States. Countries.

"It's almost two a.m." Hugh grunts, straddling a dusty chair backwards with his arms draped against the edge.

Whillum finally releases Credence's face, lifting his wrist and pushing up his sleeve to read his watch. His gaze drifts off to the front of the building. "He'll be here."

He'll be here.

If there's one truth Credence can hold onto right now, it's that his husband will come for him. He will be here soon, and he will put an end to all this. His husband is a strong wizard.

Yet as much as he tries to assure himself of this truth, doubt keeps flickering in the back of his mind, coiling downward and wrapping around his beating heart like a grip of ice. What if he doesn't come? Perhaps even more unsettling is the way that doubt shifts between insecurity and resignation, as though he doesn't deserve saving in the first place. It took months, years even to recover and flourish. It only a few minutes for Mary Lou's voice to emerge in his head, declaring this a punishment for his new sinful way of life.

Percival had risked so much for him, to keep him safe, to keep him hidden. Men like them were as well regarded in the wizarding community as they were the No-Maj one. Yet all those barriers were broken, and when Credence tried to defend himself in a last ditch effort, he may as well have had a toy wand for all the good his own did him.

It's not the wand's fault, of course. It's his. He was captured and so very ashamed of himself for it, after everything his husband had done for him, finding him and taking him in. Percival felt personally responsible for what Grindelwald did using his face, even though Credence knew better.

The falling in love and marrying in secret bit had not been part of the plan, but it happened anyway.

A crack breaks the silence, and Credence's eyes widen. The sight of his husband in front of him brings a wave of relief that fills his lungs when he breathes it, yet shame weighs him down only a moment later.

However, just as quickly as he sees him, sparks and streams of a variety of colors erupt from the end of Percival's wand. The assault is absorbed by a barrier separating Percival and Credence as well as the other three men. His husband picks up on this quickly, twisting into a shrinking loop, only to have his features twisted in an array of frustration and confusion when he reappears in the exact same spot. The end of his wand glows as his eyes dart all around, as though searching for any sign of weakness he can exploit to break through.

Whillum has clearly anticipated these moves, and he chuckles lowly. "Not even you can penetrate this barrier, Mr. Graves. That, I made sure of."

His words have little effect on Percival's resolve, growling as a new assault of lights and colors crash into the barrier.

Drawing his wand, Whillum jabs it right against Credence's throat, making him whimper. "I would stop that, if I were you," he warns. "I would hate to ruin such fine silk with bloodstains." Both Giles and Hugh are on their feet, wands in hand, keeping close to the leader of this operation.

Percival's eyes illuminate like a wildfire, a fury unlike anything Credence has ever seen in them before. There's something else there too.

Fear.

Grudgingly, the spells cease, and Percival lowers his wand.

A fresh wave of tears stream down the sides of Credence's face, enough to obscure the scene before him. "I-I'm sorry!" he stammers. "I-I... I tried!"

"It's okay, Credence," Percival replies. Despite the wand against his throat and the invisible barrier between them, the confident calm in his husband's tone is reassuring. "This isn't your fault. It's there's."

A raucous laugh bursts from Whillum' mouth. He shakes his head as it tapers off. "Oh, no, no, no, Mr. Graves. This is your fault. You've meddled in my life, taken away everything that I worked so hard for, and now? I'm going to return the favor." His brows raise as though to feign curiosity. "But how to take everything away from a man so staunchly married to his job? Short of the downfall of the MACUSA, which would be an incredible feat, no doubt, but perhaps not the most practical."

Percival looks sufficiently unimpressed, but his guard is as sharp as ever. "Your own greed lost you everything, Whillum. Don't manipulate the situation. Besides that, he had nothing to do with it." His eyes flit over to Credence a moment before looking at the wizard holding the wand against his throat again. "I'm warning you. Let him go. You got me here like you wanted. He has no part in this."

"But doesn't he?" The tip of the wand digs into Credence's throat, and Whillum's other hand lifts to push a lock of hair behind the younger wizard's ear, which has grown over the years. The light calloused touch has the hair rising on the nape of Credence's neck, and his shoulders tense.

"How ever could I get to a man whose defined himself by his dedication to his work, I asked myself?" Whillum continues. Credence can see him staring right at him from the corner of his eyes. The fingers are still in his hair and ever so gently, they twirl around a dark lock before dragging the pad of one down his jawline. The gesture is so minimal, yet it has Credence shivering. "And then we found him."

Percival's strong brow is tightly furrowed, his hand clenched around his wand so tightly that his knuckles turn white, and Credence knows that the only reason there's not sparks shooting out of it is because of the wand pressed against his throat.

"Giles," Whillum snaps, and the other wizard is at attention. Whillum doesn't even need to tell the man what to do from there. Giles holds his palm out flat and points his wand toward it. With an upward flicking motion, a ring appears as though summoned from an invisible pouch. The once grand gemstone mounting it is now cracked and darkened.

Credence's ring. The ring Percival gave him the day he asked him to marry him. The final barrier of the several layers his husband had cast around him to keep him safe.

The sight of it draws a choked sob from Credence's mouth, and his head drops forward. Tears leave little dark spots on the musty floor right in front of his toes. "I'm sorry... I-I'm so sorry..."

"It's alright, Credence," he hears his husband say with a calm that is growing strained. "You're going to go home now, okay? I want you to go find Tina--"

"You are not calling the shots here, Mr. Graves!" Whillum spits, his composure faltering. The gentle fingers in his hair suddenly delve into the locks on the back of his head and tangle into a hard fist. "Do you not see the position you are in?" Yanking Credence's head back up, the wand twists, and Credence cries out as his skin burns and sizzles like a cigarette had been pressed to do it. "Drop your wand. Take a step back. Do it! Do it now, or I'll show you the inside of his throat!"

Through the haze of tears, Credence sees his husband's teeth bared. Loathing darkens Percival's narrow eyes, and his shoulders are hunched up menacingly, so much so that even Credence can't help but cower a bit from the sight. He is a complete antonym to the man that takes him in his bed and touches him so sweetly every night, making him feel beautiful and loved.

A few tense seconds pass that feel more like a few hours, and the quiet empty warehouse is only disturbed by the lightest of clicks as Percival's wand hits the ground. He takes a few steps back.

Whillum grins. "That's better."

Finally, the wand is removed from Credence's throat, but the stinging of the small burn lingers. Whillum waves his wand, and the barrier separating them from his husband illuminates a silvery color, still transparent but now visible. The wall moves, shifting around Percival and closing in, until its a rectangular shape trapping him inside. He has enough room to press his palms against the magical surface in front of him but not much else.

Credence's eyes widen, and fear blossoms at the sight of his entrapped husband so potent that it outweighs the small burn on his throat, outweighs even the cramps in his arms and legs that the bindings had caused. "W-Wait, what are you...?" The words tremble from Credence's lips in a whisper. "No..." He shakes his head. "No, don't hurt him." More tears send warm lines down his cheeks. "Please. Don't hurt him. Please." Up to this point, he's been so frightened, so scared of what they were going to do to him that he hadn't considered what they might do to Percival in his stead. He knows how strong his husband is, yet that means little when he's contained by a seemingly impenetrable force.

"Accio!" Hugh points his own wand, and Percival's leaps into the air right for him. He snatches it with his free hand.

Whillum turns to face Credence, a smile pressed onto his lips, eyes alight with a sadistic amusement. "Do you value his life so, little squib?" he asks. "That's good. It should make you more cooperative." His lips twist into a smirk, and without warning, the hand in his hair thrusts him forward.

Whatever force was holding him upright snaps, and Credence impulsively curls into himself. Unable to use his arms to break the fall, he hits the ground hard, a sharp yelp escaping his throat. His eyes screw shut, pain shuddering through his body and feeble whimpers slipping from his lips. The thuds of fists hitting something solid as well as his husband's shouts reach his ears, but they seem so distant.

Next thing he knows, Credence is on his back, and rough hands cup the sides of his face. His eyes flutter open, barely making out the outline of Whillum through the fog of tears and dirt. The heavy weight of the man straddles his chest.

With a flick of his wrist, the hovering ring shoots over to the end of Whillum's wand like a magnet, and he uses his other hand to catch it. Pinching the fine metal between his thumb and forefinger, he holds it up to examine it before grinning, eyes flitting to Credence a moment before turning his attention back to Percival. "Oh, Mr. Graves, didn't your mother ever teach you you're supposed to marry girls? What would your colleagues say if they knew you were a grotesque?"

Pocketing the ring and his wand, Whillum lowers a hand to gently cup the side of Credence's face, his dark eyes gazing down at him. "Perhaps you were confused and thought this one was a girl? He's certainly pretty enough to be, isn't he?" A single fingertip traces the sharp outline of Credence's cheekbone before finding the very edge of his pink lips. Credence's head jerks to the side.

Something about his tone of voice and gentle touch reminds him of Gellert Grindelwald all those years ago. Those soft whispers and hints of affection that Credence had believed were coming from Percival Graves. He shudders to think now about the yearning they had stirred in him back then. A desire and ache that imploded on itself when he was met with betrayal, twice over when he learned that the Mr. Graves he befriended had never been him at all.

Whillum touches him gently, carefully, not inflicting pain, but the simplest brush of skin has Credence's stomach curling as he tries to shrivel up into himself.

"Whillum!"

When Credence peeks an eye open, he sees Percival using what little space he has to throw fists, palms, and shoulders against the silvery enclosure. The barrier is unyielding, but so is he.

"Let him go!" Percival snarls. "This is between you and me. He doesn't have anything to do with this. If you lay another finger on him, I swear you'll regret it. I'll see to it personally."

"You're finally getting it, Mr. Graves." Withdrawing his hands, Whillum takes hold of his belt, undoing it with a slight clink of metal. Credence's eyes widen as he watches him undo his pants. "This is very personal."